One Battle at the Time
by LaueHime
Summary: Oneshot. Tag to 10x03 'Soul Survivor'. Dean is human again and Sam is drunk.


**Title: **One Battle at the Time  
**Author:** LaueHime  
**Genre:** Angst, Hurt/Comfort  
**Characters:** Dean, Sam  
**Word count: **Approx. 1300

**Warnings: **Spoilers for 10x03  
**Summary:** Oneshot. Tag to 10x03. Dean's human again and Sam is drunk.  
**Disclaimer:** The show belongs to Kripke.

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Dean dragged his lead-laden feet out of his room. The simple aroma of fat served to remind his stomach just how much a diet based on booze and blood wasn't enough to keep his body working. At least, not if he was going to be human again. Thanks to Cas and Sam, it wasn't an option anymore.

He couldn't stop his thoughts from going round like a broken record. His conversation with Castiel kept echoing within the walls of his consciousness. According to the angel, it would take more than the previous events to break what he had with Sam. Looking at his sullen brother, he couldn't be so sure.

The food was discarded across the table. However long they were kept apart, Sam didn't seem to have the ability to forget what Dean liked. It didn't help that the eldest had never been quiet about it. Everything he could dream of was there; a juicy burger with a generous amount of onions, crispy fries the way he liked them and even pie. Of course, Sam wouldn't forget the pie.

Dean smiled sheepishly. Curing his blackened soul hadn't erased his memory. He still carried with him the vivid images of his actions as a demon. The pained relief that dripped from Sam's exhausted expression was just one thing to go by; one among many. The second most obvious one was the way his brother was slumped in a cushioned chair by the bookshelves. Sam was facing away from Dean, but the eldest could imagine exactly what sight he'd face was he standing on the other side of his brother.

Sam stretched his arm to grab the half-full bottle of Bourbon. In Dean's memory, it was still sealed the last time he passed by.

He settled by the food and tried to keep his cravings under control. He was so hungry, he'd swallow his fingers whole after aspiring the burger and the fries in one breath. Wanting to avoid a major stomach ache, he forced a slower pace on himself; one bite at the time. The food was like blissful relief in his mouth. Greasy meat had never tasted so heavenly.

From the corner of his eyes, he observed his brother. Sam silently sipped his liquor; stiffening occasionally in a repressed hiccup. He never reached the bottom of his glass as he kept refilling it.

Dean wanted to say something; anything to break the wall of tension between them. But what was he supposed to say, really? _Hey Sam, I'm sorry for trying to kill you with a hammer? _Or maybe _Hey bro, I'm sorry for blaming you for mom's death and every other bad thing that's happened in our lives_. Again, _sorry for quitting_. Would that even be enough?

He'd been harsh before, but never like this. Could he blame it on not being himself? Could he really do that? Because how much of this was the demon talking?

Sam held onto his glass and twisted it around; the liquor waltzing back and forth against the crystal. Dean breathed deeply, dropping the burger down because he wanted no distraction.

"Sam?"

It was weak. It was shy. It was uncertain. Dean didn't know what he could say at this point or even how.

Sam's head turned halfway towards Dean, leaving a good ninety degrees of a blind spot between them. The eldest swallowed.

"Thanks… for not forgetting the pie…" _For not giving up on me. For staying despite the way I treated you. For being my brother._

The nod the youngest shot was hardly perceptible, but the moment officially ended when he turned his face back to rest his chin on his chest. When his head shot back up, it was to chug the remnants of amber liquid salvation before filling the glass back up. The bottle was almost empty when he put it back on the table. The light from the lamp reflected on it, projecting a somber glow.

"I, uh… I appreciate that." Dean looked up, hopefully. It wasn't all of what he needed to say but it was a start. The movement from his brother was hardly perceptible, but the slight angle of his head in Dean's direction was enough for the eldest. One battle at the time, right?

And it appeared that Sam was just as wrecked as he was.

Dean finished his meal and stared at the piece of pie with a feeling of sickness that had nothing to do with the state of his stomach. He picked at the pastry before pushing it away, leaving Sam to his musing while he went back to his room.

The pictures were still on the bed. His parents, Bobby, all looked at him expectantly. Was it renewed humanity or nostalgia alone; he couldn't pick why his eyes burned and why he felt like ripping his heart out.

His arm itched with a familiar tingling. He might have lost the black eyes, but the mark was still there. He picked and poked at it. He had the strange feeling that it wasn't over just yet.

Some time passed, then some more. He needed to learn to breathe again; breathe in the memories and the pain they carried with them, breathe in reality and the physical touch of what he had once been happy to call his Home.

A visceral attraction called out to him; brought him to his feet and wandering across the halls of the Bunker. Familiar sights and smells rushed back to him as if he was walking along those walls for the first time in a long time.

Instinctively, his feet carried him back to the main room. His pie still lay untouched. Something else was scattered, untouched. Or should he say _someone_ else. Over two hundred pounds of little brothers were sprawled across the same chair they had occupied all night.

The bottle of Bourbon sat empty near Sam's lax fingers. Light snoring reached Dean's ears like a music he had longed to hear.

His muscles sprung to action on sole instinct. It wasn't a sense of divorce that lifted him to Sam's side, but a spreading fire of duty; a sense of family.

He kneeled next to Sam and tapped his brother's cheek lightly.

"Sam? Hey, Sammy."

The only answer he got was a quiet grunt. He was then rewarded with sluggish shifting before glassy eyes like melting ice shone towards him.

"You'll hurt yourself if you sleep out here. That shoulder, especially. C'mon, let's get you to bed," Dean cooed while carefully stretching his arms to wrap securely around Sam.

The youngest pressed a hand against his face. Dean scrunched his nose up at the smell of alcohol on his brother's breath. It could rub paint off his car, alone.

"You're back." It was an acknowledgment. Sam unsteadily eyed his brother up and down. The caring green eyes remained unchanged and the whole demeanor wasn't threatening or downright murderous. Dean was Dean again.

"Yeah, all thanks to you and Cas."

Dean managed to wriggle his arm under Sam's and around his brother's shoulders, careful not to reinjure the fragile one. He offered a light smile; one that had nothing of a sneer for the first time in a long time.

"Y'leaving?" Sam slurred, letting himself fall into Dean's warm grasp.

"Not if you don't want me to." He found himself praying Sam wouldn't say he did.

"Need'you, Dean. Please don'go," Sam admitted brokenly.

The confession struck Dean where it hurt emotionally. Leave it to Sam to throw a chick flick after what they've been through.

And Dean was all aware that the mark was still an issue between them. Sam had gotten rid of the demon, but not of the disease.

"I won't. Let's get you up, okay?"

After a few trials and errors with Sam slumping back into the chair, they managed to stand albeit precariously.

Because that's just the kind of equilibrium they had these days.

And they could work with that, for now.

One battle at the time.


End file.
